


G.I. JOE: American Heroes, Episode 1 "Still Wanted by the Government"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: G.I. JOE: American Heroes [1]
Category: Airwolf, G.I. Joe - All Media Types, The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Fanart, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: With a ruthless terrorist organization on the rise, a daring, highly trained special missions force code named G.I. JOE is assembled to combat the threat. General Hawk wants to recruit the best agents he can find, no matter how unorthodox. It doesn't get more unorthodox than The A-Team. More crossovers to come in future episodes.





	

**G.I. JOE-AMERICAN HEROES**

 

**Season 1/Episode 1**

 

 

Former Soviet republic of Borovia.

 

She strolled through the darkened streets, the heels of her thigh high boots clicking over the cobblestones as she pulled the collar of her trench coat tighter.

 

She stopped before a run down shop.

 

Two men stood before her on either side of the door, wearing navy blue trench coats and fedoras.

 

“I have appointment,” the young woman spoke in a Russian accent.

 

“Gotta search ya, lady,” one of the men responded, his voice muffled.

 

“Make it quick,” she said, raising her arms. “Do not take liberties.”

 

She wore thin framed spectacles. Her head was covered in a purple kerchief.

 

The first man quickly patted her down while the other studied her.

 

“She's clean.”

 

The second man led her to a back room. The door quickly slammed shut behind her after she entered.

 

A figure sat behind a wooden table flanked by several more men in dark blue suits and hats. As she approached, the woman could see that this figure

wore a silver metal mask that encased his entire head.

 

“Nadia, I presume,” he spoke in a baritone Scottish brogue.

 

“Da. I am Nadia,” she replied, suddenly noticing a figure in the shadows off to the left. “and you are...?”

 

“My name is of no consequence. I understand you have a business proposition that you wish to discuss with me.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Please, my dear. Keep me in suspense no longer.”

 

“My country is looking to augment its military. As you know, Russia has been making much noise as if to invade and retake our sovereign nation. We must be prepared to meet this aggression as soon as possible.”

 

“What can you offer me?” asked the masked man.

 

A figure to the left emerged from the shadows just enough to expose that he wore the white attire and mask of a ninja. He lifted his gaze towards the rafters.

 

“Ten Million Dollars, U.S.,” she said. “A down payment, as they say.”

 

The man in the silver mask folded his hands.

 

“How is it possible that your country could come up with that kind of money? Since declaring its independence, this little republic hasn't exactly flourished.”

 

The ninja continued to stare up into the shadowy rafters above. He then slowly brought his gaze down to the woman, locking eyes with her.

 

“Do not be concerned with such matters,” she replied, feeling her heart race. “Only care that you will be rewarded handsomely for coming to the aid of our country.”

 

The ninja backed into the shadows while keeping his eyes on the woman.

 

“What sort of... _aid_ would you require?” asked the man.

 

“Light ordinance, heavy artillery, vehicles,” she answered. “The usual.”

 

“I believe we can come to an agreement.”

 

She smiled.

 

“Excellent. My country will be indebted to you. But...I must ask, who may I tell my superiors I am striking such a momentous agreement with?”

 

“Very well,” the man responded. “You may call me...Destro.”

 

A flash of metal glinted in the light as the ninja drew his sword.

 

“This is a trap,” he said tersely.

 

A masked figure in black, dropped from the shadows above, swinging a sword of his own.

 

Destro stood and flipped the table as the ninja behind him leaped forward. The men in suits advanced, drawing their weapons.

 

The man in black and the ninja clashed swords, each swinging and jabbing at each other, only missing by inches.

 

“Kill them!” Destro shouted.

 

Two guards advanced on the woman. She caught one in the jaw with a jumping roundhouse kick, knocking him into the other advancing men.

 

As soon as her feet hit the floor, she dropped into a crouch and took the legs out from the second attacker with a sweeping kick.

 

She stood, flipping aside her glasses and ripping off her kerchief to reveal a head of red hair, pulled back into a ponytail.

 

“Snake Eyes!” she called in an American accent.

 

Snake Eyes leaped in the air, avoiding the ninja's blade, landing on the edge of the overturned table. Without looking, he drew the UZI sub machine gun from his thigh and flipped it backwards at her.

 

Scarlett pulled the gun from mid-air and in one deft movement, fired upon the guards, who responded in kind.

 

Destro dove through a window, disappearing into the night in a hail of broken glass.

 

“I knew we would meet again!” the ninja shouted.

 

He kicked Snake Eyes in the chest, sending him skidding across the floor.

 

Scarlett brought down three guards with the UZI, leaving two more, who continued to fire.

 

Bullets cracked the air as they zoomed past her head, lodging in the wall.

 

The door slammed open and three more guards rushed in.

 

She socked one under the chin with an uppercut knocking him back, while dodging a swing from a second. The third man in caught her in the jaw with a right hook and she fell to the floor, which knocked the UZI from her hand.

 

She pulled a hidden knife from her boot and flipped it at an oncoming guard. The blade lodged in his shoulder and he stumbled backwards, screaming in pain.

 

“Snake Eyes! This isn't good!” Scarlett shouted, using another sweeping kick to knock a man off balance, catching his pistol as he fell. “We can't keep this up forever!”

 

She fired, taking down two more guards while still on her back.

 

Snake Eyes and the ninja that he knew as Storm Shadow continued to clash swords. He thrust high, then low, fending off each swing until again, they locked swords. With a quick turn, he knocked Storm Shadow's sword from his hands.

 

The ninja flipped backwards in the air. His feet hit the wall which he used as as springboard to launch himself at his rival.

 

Snake Eyes threw a smoke bomb at the floor, which immediately filled the room with a black cloud.

 

Storm Shadow landed on the floor, missing his target. The smoke dissipated as he stood only to reveal that the door was open and his two opponents were gone.

 

A pile of Iron Grenadiers lay defeated at his feet.

 

“Pathetic,” he sneered at them.

 

“ **Still Wanted by the Government”**

 

The Pentagon, two days later.

 

“COBRA militants detonated a car bomb in a crowded market in Istanbul at 1200 hours Zulu,” Brigadier General Clayton Abernathy, AKA _Hawk,_ said as he stood at a lectern before a gathering of the GI JOE brass. “Fifteen killed, twenty-two wounded. This comes on the heels of a firefight yesterday in Hamburg between security forces and a COBRA cell. Six combatants killed, one taken into custody.”

 

“My God, they're spreading like cockroaches,” General Hollingsworth grumbled, rubbing his chin. “So far, this month alone, we've got confirmed COBRA activity in eight countries, not counting Costa Buena which has welcomed them with open arms.”

 

“COBRA is an enemy unlike any we've ever seen before,” said General Hawk. “And as such, I think we need to explore every asset available to us, no matter how unconventional.”

Hollingsworth sighed and drummed his fingers on the table.

“This again, Hawk? Those men are criminals. They have no place in GI JOE. They're simply not-”

General Joe Colton, a military legend and the commanding officer of GI JOE, raised a hand, silencing the room.

“General Abernathy, tell me about these men that you believe can help us.”

Hawk clicked the controller in his hand and the images of four men flashed onto the large monitor behind him.

“Ten years ago, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Still wanted by the government, they survived as soldiers of fortune. As of two days ago, they were returned to custody, having been captured by the military police fugitive recovery unit under the command of a Colonel Decker.”

“A crime they didn't commit?” asked Colton.

“So they say,” Hollingsworth mumbled.

“So we _know_ , General,” Hawk replied. “They were set up. Cover Girl dug into the case and exposed those responsible. The only remaining charges against them now are related to their escaping custody.”

Hollingsworth rolled his eyes.

“Oh, is that all?”

  
  


General Colton studied the monitor.

 

“This is the A-Team that we're talking about.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Hawk replied.

 

“Tell me about them.”

 

The photograph of a gray haired man smoking a cigar appeared on the screen.

 

“Colonel John Hannibal Smith,” said Hawk. “75th Rangers. Highly decorated. He led his team on countless successful missions in Iraq, Afghanistan, Asia, and South America. Several of the missions are still classified. An excellent tactician. His men would travel through hell for him.”

 

The picture changed to that of a handsome blond man, several years younger than the former.

 

“Lieutenant Templeton 'Faceman' Peck. Like his commanding officer, highly decorated. As persuasive as they come. He could talk a vegan into buying a blood rare porterhouse. He's rumored to have genius level intellect.”

 

Peck's photograph was replaced by one of a laughing man wearing a red baseball cap sideways.

 

“Captain H.M. Murdock. They haven't built an aircraft yet that this crazy bastard can't fly. And when I say _crazy bastard,_ I mean that quite literally. After surviving a particularly bad chopper crash outside of Fallujah, he's been in and out of VA mental health facilities the last few years. However, Colonel Smith, for whatever reason, still finds Captain Murdock useful and he has aided the A-Team on multiple occasions.”

 

The image of a scowling African-American man with a mohawk appeared on the monitor.

 

“Sergeant-First Class Bosco _B.A._ Baracus,” said Hawk. “Sergeant Baracus was the A-Team's muscle. Aside from being a skilled mechanic, he's an expert in heavy artillery. He received a Silver Star for pulling Captain Murdock from that chopper crash while under heavy fire from insurgents.”

 

Colton stared intently at the large video screen.

 

“General Hawk, what exactly did the A-Team do while on the run, these past ten years?”

 

“They did a lot of good, Sir,” Hawk replied. “We have sworn affidavits from over a hundred people who say that the A-Team came to their aid in one way or another. They defended people who had no one else to turn to. In many instances, the A-Team brought wanted criminals to justice, despite the danger that they, themselves might be arrested. We know now, that these men are innocent. They are honorable and decent men who are some of the best the Army has to offer and right now, they could be an immense asset to this unit.”

 

All eyes turned to General Colton.

 

XXXXXX

 

Fort Coyote, Utah.

GI JOE headquarters.

 

Fort Coyote had opened two years ago, serving as home to both the 39th Infantry Division and 552nd Parachute Infantry Regiment. One year ago, with little fanfare, a third unit was also added to the garrison, _Special Counter Terrorist Unit-Delta_ , which had acquired the code name _GI JOE,_ with its members nicknamed _Joes_.

 

While the Joes were quartered in the same barracks and on base housing as the other soldiers, GI JOE's main headquarters and facilities were found below ground with several secret entrances located either on base or within the surrounding desert.

 

The underground base, known as _The Pit_ , housed the majority of the unit's vehicles and aircraft as well as an armory, training facilities, command center and other unit-specific areas.

 

In a Pit conference room that overlooked a row of Abrams battle tanks in the motor pool, Captain Conrad Hauser, code name Duke, sat at the head of a table with some of the members of his unit, Team-1. Scarlett, AKA Lieutenant Shana O'Hara, sat across from Snake Eyes who was flanked by Master Sergeant Lonzo Wilkinson, AKA _Stalker_. Also present were the leader of Team-2, Warrant Officer Dashiell Fairborne, code name _Flint_ and his second in command, Lieutenant Vincent Falcone, who carried the moniker _Falcon_.  
  


“Scarlett, I understand that you and Snake Eyes had an eventful night in Borovia,” said Duke. “Care to share?”

 

Scarlett exhaled and sipped from her coffee cup. Having arrived 45 minutes earlier from Europe, courtesy of a hypersonic transport, she and Snake Eyes were visibly tired. She wasn't entirely sure that Snake Eyes was even awake under his mask.

 

“I went undercover, posing as a representative of the Borovian Government, looking to purchase weapons from the arms dealer known as Destro,” she yawned. “He's definitely aligned himself with COBRA. Their ninja Storm Shadow was there, along with a small phalanx of Destro's Iron Grenadiers acting as his muscle. Things went sideways pretty quickly and Destro managed to escape.”

 

“So what's the connection?” asked Flint. “Why does COBRA send one of their top operatives to a weapons deal like that?”

 

“COBRA is stepping up its global expansion efforts,” Stalker offered. “We didn't have any definitive evidence that their reach had extended yet to Northern Eurasia. Storm Shadow may have been there to help gauge the possibility of their organization gaining a foothold in the region.”

 

Duke sighed.

 

“A ruthless terrorist organization expanding, aligning themselves with the world's largest arms dealer. They're definitely stepping up their game. Falcon, how's recruiting going? Beachhead tells me we've got some promising candidates.”

 

Falcon nodded, thumbing through the dossiers in his hands.

 

“I think he's right. A couple of Navy Top Gun graduates, Mitchell and Bradshaw, they've already been assigned to the _Flagg._ Couple of Army guys named Skoog and Hanrahan and a Coastie named Stone. Some interesting non-military recruits as well.”

 

“We're going to need them,” said Duke as he stood. “Something tells me that it's gonna be all hands on deck soon. Snake, Scarlett, go hit your racks. You look like hell.”

 

Scarlett raised her cup.

 

“You really know how to charm a girl, Duke.”

 

“That's it,” Duke grinned. “Dismissed.”

 

XXXXXX

 

United States Disciplinary Barracks (USDB)

Fort Leavenworth, KS.

 

“Hell, I'm not here to gloat,” Colonel Roderick Decker began in his gravelly drawl, flanked by several MP's.

 

“Sure ya are,” replied Hannibal Smith, the silver-haired leader of the A-Team.

 

Hannibal and his men, Face, B.A. and Murdock were shackled together and chained to a stainless steel table that was bolted to the floor in the prison's empty mess hall.

 

“And who the hell could blame me?” Decker grinned. “I chased you and your men all over the damned country and half way around the world for nearly a decade.”

 

“Our very own Inspector Clouseau,” said Face.

 

“Only without the charm and twice as inept,” Hannibal smiled.

 

Decker chewed the inside of his cheek.

 

“Laugh it up, Smith, but you and your men are done. End of the line. You four were the most wanted men in the history of this man's Army. In fact, we've got a brigadier general inbound as we speak just to get a look at you malcontents for himself before you're locked away for good, or dare I say it...face a firing squad.”

 

“Excuse me, Bellhop?” Murdock spoke up, affecting a posh British accent. “I have a complaint about my room. Firstly, there is no oceanfront view as promised in your brochure, secondly the minibar seems to be devoid of those little bags of pistachios that I do adore so much, and third of all, and most importantly, there is a rather large gentleman named Rollo who refuses to admit that he's in the wrong room and who also appears to be spying on me as I use the facilities. Now, if you would be so kind as to-”

 

“Stow it, Murdock,” Decker sneered. “You may have those shrinks at the VA fooled, but I know you're not insane.”

 

“Naw, he ain't lyin',” said B.A.. “That fool crazy as hell.”

 

“Ah-ten-shun!” called a voice. Everyone in the room snapped to attention as General Hawk entered.

 

Hawk and Decker exchanged salutes.

 

“Colonel Decker, I'd like to congratulate you on a job well done,” Hawk shook his hand.

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Decker replied. “And may I add, it's an honor to-”

 

“Colonel, would you be so kind as to step outside for a moment or two? I'd like to speak with these men myself. I'd like to give 'em a piece of my mind.”

 

“Yes, Sir! Absolutely, Sir!” Decker saluted before leaving.

 

Hawk sighed and sat down across from Hannibal's team.

 

“Colonel Smith. It's been a while.”

 

“General Abernathy,” Hannibal folded his arms, chains rattling as he did so. “Looks like you've done pretty well for yourself.”

 

“I have and I'd like to make sure things work out all right for you and your men as well.”

 

“In case you haven't noticed, General, it appears that we've reached the end of the line,” Face replied. “We're a little past the point of things turning out all right.”

 

Hawk opened his briefcase and retrieved several stacks of photocopied pages and photographs which he placed on the table.

 

B.A. shuffled through the papers.

 

“Hey! This...this is the proof! The proof we needed all along to clear our names!”

 

Hannibal skimmed through the pages.

 

“Nice to see it only took the army ten years to finally get off its collective ass and investigate. Or have they just held onto this information for the last decade?”

 

“I had someone from my command look into the case,” Hawk explained. “It took a good bit of digging, but we've built a rock solid case. General Morrison and his associates have already been taken into custody and have issued full confessions.”

 

“So that's it, then?” asked Murdock, slipping back into his natural southern twang. “We're free? Well, let's get on outta here!”

 

Hannibal folded his hands and narrowed his eyes at Hawk.

 

“I wouldn't get my hopes up just yet, Murdock. What's the catch, Abernathy?”

 

Hawk smiled in spite of himself and nodded.

 

“Your country needs you, Hannibal.”

 

“Our country needed us ten years ago. We answered the call. Look how that worked out for us.”

 

“You've heard of COBRA, I assume?”

 

“Some bad dudes,” B.A. spoke up. “Buncha small time terrorists lookin' to go big time.”

 

“They're organized, well funded, and they're going global,” said Hawk.

 

“That's why GI JOE was formed,” said Face.

 

Hawk arched an eyebrow.

 

“We do our research,” Hannibal explained. “I'll ask again, what's the catch, Abernathy?”

 

Hawk collected the papers and photographs.

 

“I want the best operators we can find for my unit. Real American heroes. I want the A-Team to join GI JOE.”

 

Hannibal exchanged looks with his team.

 

“Not to sound unpatriotic, but what's in it for us?”

 

“Your freedom, for one thing,” said Hawk. “Full pardons and reinstatement, plus a sizable reparation for each of you. In exchange, you become a special operations unit within GI JOE.”

 

“A Spec Ops unit within a Spec Ops unit?”

 

Hawk nodded.

 

“Fighting an enemy like COBRA won't be easy. In some cases, we'll have to use unorthodox methods and what's more unorthodox than the A-Team?”

 

“Touche`,” Hannibal smirked.

 

Face cocked his head.

 

“How big of a reparation are we talking here?”

 

Hawk pulled signed documents from his case and placed one before each man.

 

“Hello!” Face laughed, his eyes widening as he focused on the figure printed on the contract. “I think Uncle Sam just bought my forgiveness!”

 

“Oh hell yeah!” B.A. elbowed him. “Whattaya say, Hannibal?”

 

“I say it has to be unanimous,” Hannibal replied. “Murdock?”

 

Murdock stared at the document in his hands.

 

“I tell ya, boys, this sure is a whole lot of money, but I...I just wanna go back to fightin' for my country. It'd be awful nice to be on the right side of the law again.”

 

Hannibal nodded.

 

“Congratulations, General. It looks like you've just hired the A-Team.”

 

Hawk smiled broadly.

 

“Sergeant,” he called over his shoulder. “Please remove the restraints from Colonel Smith and his men. They are no longer in custody.”

 

The men stood as the MP sergeant removed their shackles. Hawk rose and snapped off a crisp salute. The A-Team saluted him in return.

 

The General pulled a cigar from his coat pocket and offered it to Hannibal.

 

“Welcome to GI JOE.”

 

Several minutes later, Hawk stepped out into the hall and shook hands with Colonel Decker.

 

“I want to thank you again, Colonel. You'll be forever known as the man who apprehended the A-Team. You should be very proud.”

 

Decker smiled smugly.

 

“Well, thank you, Sir. I must say-”

 

“Gentleman, shall we?” Hawk called as he headed down the hall.

 

“Yes, let's!” Face replied as he strolled out of the mess hall, offering a salute to Decker as he passed.

 

“Peck?!” Decker snapped. “What in the Sam Hill-”

 

“Colonel,” B.A. saluted with a wink.

 

“Baracus?! What are you men doing...”

 

Murdock stopped and saluted. Decker, gritted his teeth, glaring at him with a mixture of sheer anger and total bewilderment. His left eye twitched.

 

“I'm sorry, but I find the accommodations here quiet lacking and as such, I shall take my leave,” Murdock said apologetically. “I'll send the butler 'round for my bags later. Please, do give my regrets to Rollo.”

 

Lastly, Hannibal rounded the corner, a lit cigar clenched in his teeth, which he removed while he saluted.

 

“What can I say, Colonel? It's been real.”

 

Decker found it increasingly hard to string words together in a coherent fashion.

 

“Smith?! What...I don't...you can't just...”

 

Hannibal returned the cigar to his mouth and smiled.

 

“Sure we can. We've just been pardoned. See ya in the funny pages!”

 

Decker stood in the corridor, seething as he watched the A-Team walk away, once again free men.

 

XXXXX

 

Costa Buena.

2210 hrs. local time.

 

It was hard for the soldier to breathe. A burlap sack had been pulled over his head. The broken ribs weren't helping much either. He was suspended by a rope that was wrapped tightly around his wrists.

 

The soles of his boots barely touched what he assumed was a dirt floor as he twisted slightly in the air.

 

A wooden door creaked open and he could feel a cool ocean breeze drift in.

 

“Your mates are dead. I mean, we bloody slaughtered 'em,” chuckled a man with an Australian accident. “They weren't any match for our Jungle Vipers.”

 

The soldier listened intently, hoping any sound or even smell could help him determine what his surroundings were.

 

“I've gotta ask,” the Australian stepped closer. “what exactly were a bunch of American soldiers doing in Costa Buena uninvited? What is it that you were looking for?”

 

The soldier remained silent.

 

“Have it your way, friend,” said the Aussie before landing a hard punch to his stomach.

 

The soldier cried out in pain, nearly fainting from the excruciating fire that radiated from his fractured ribs across the left side of his abdomen.

 

“Why do you Yanks have to be so bloody stubborn? You know, it's brought you nothing but trouble. I'll ask again, _what are you doing here_?”

 

Again, the soldier refused to speak.

 

“Look, let's start small. Tell me your name at least, yeah?”

 

The soldier kept quiet, knowing to do so would most likely earn him another beating.

 

“Okay, I'll go first,” the man punched the soldier's right abdomen. “My name... is Major Bludd.”

 

The soldier moaned in anguish. The sack was pulled from his head and he could see that he was being held in what appeared to be a stable. The man standing before him wore tactical body armor and sported a thin goatee and an eye patch over his left eye.

 

He grinned as he pulled a set of brass knuckles from his left hand.

 

“Okay now, Sonny boy. What's your name?”

 

The soldier spit out a glob of blood and narrowed his eyes at his captor.

 

“Stringfellow Hawke. Chief Warrant Officer. United States Army. 664-73-5225.”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hawke. What were you and your unit doing in Costa Buena? What is your mission?”

 

Hawke sighed.

 

“Stringfellow Hawke. Chief Warrant Officer. United States Army. 664-73-5225.”

 

Major Bludd shook his head and slipped the brass knuckles back on. This time, they were on his right hand.

 

“It's gonna be a long night for you, I'm afraid.”

 

“Stringfellow Hawke. Chief Warrant Officer. United States Army. 664-73-5225.”

 

Bludd landed a punch to Hawke's rib cage. The room tilted before everything turned black.

 

XXXXXX

 

Ramon Alvarez, the President of Costa Buena, stood before the large picture window in his office, on the top floor of the presidential palace.

 

He sighed as he stared into the glass of rum in his hand.

 

A raven haired woman wearing glasses and a dark blue suit sat on a nearby sofa, a glass of Merlot in one hand.

 

“You seem troubled, _El Presidente_ `,” she spoke with an eastern European accent.

 

“ _El Presidente'_ ,” he sighed. “It seems these days that I am President in name only, Baroness.”

 

The Baroness took a long sip from her glass.

 

“Let's be honest, Ramon. You have always been President in name only. Presidents are elected. You weren't elected. You seized power after you had your brother murdered.”

 

He turned to face her.

 

“My brother was a fool. I _had_ to wrest power from him, for the good of my people.”

 

“And what an excellent job you did. That American trade embargo certainly helped your people. I'm sure they're most grateful for the years of poverty and isolation.”

 

He shook his head before downing the last of his drink.

 

“COBRA has saved your republic, Ramon,” the Baroness continued. “The investments of Extensive Enterprises, the factories and facilities that they've built here have bolstered the economy. The M.A.R.S. security personnel have strengthened your police and military, helping to restore peace and security...”

 

“Security personnel?” the President scoffed. “They are Destro's bodyguards and COBRA troops and they've taken over my armed forces.”

 

“All the better to crush rebellion with, and need I point out that with such an increased military, the other nations in the region, which once pitied and ridiculed Costa Buena, now fear it? You've even forced the Americans to once again take this small republic seriously.”

 

Alvaraez eased into the leather chair behind his desk.

 

“I am a puppet. I am no longer the leader of this proud nation. I now take my cues from your employer. I have turned my country over to terrorists.”

 

The Baroness rose and strolled the few steps to the President's desk. She took a cigar from the glass humidor and clipped the end of it.

 

“And in exchange, have you not been made wealthy beyond your dreams?” she asked, lighting the cigar and exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Also, 'terrorists' is an ugly word, El Presidente`. If anything, we are visionaries, architects of a new world, fashioned in COBRA's image.”

 

An Iron Grenadier wearing black body armor appeared at the doorway.

 

“Ma'am, I have some news from Major Bludd...”

 

XXXXXX

 

In a private jet, somewhere over the Atlantic, a shadowy man in a blue tunic sat in silence as he listened to the Baroness relay the information that COBRA troops had engaged a U.S. military unit and captured a soldier.

 

“The prisoner has refused to talk so far,” said Baroness from the video monitor that was suspended from the cabin's ceiling. “Clearly, though, this unit had to have been sent to recover-”

 

“I know what they were sent to recover,” the man replied with a gravelly rasp. “Send my commendations to the Jungle Viper unit on a job well done. We shall discuss this further when I arrive.”

 

“As you wish,” the Baroness answered. “Hail COBRA!”

 

“Hail COBRA,” the man ended the transmission.

 

“This was to be expected,” Destro said, sitting a few feet away. “Americans don't like to share their toys. They get especially testy when you steal them. They'll try again.”

 

The man in the tunic swiveled in his seat to reveal that his face was covered by a smooth chrome mask beneath a blue helmet.

 

“Then let them come. They'll meet the same fate as the others.”

 

XXXXXX

 

A black and gray GMC van with an angled red stripe followed a Humvee across the tarmac at Fort Coyote.

 

“Still not talking, B.A.?” Hannibal asked from the shotgun seat.

 

“Y'all know how much I hate to fly, Hannibal,” B.A. replied as he steered. “A regular plane is bad enough, but a damn supersonic transport-”

 

“That's hypersonic, B.A.,” Murdock corrected from the back of the van.

 

“Whatever the hell it was, it was about ten times worse.”

 

“Sorry, B.A.,” said Hannibal. “It was the quickest way to get us and our wheels across country. And anyway, you seemed to handle it okay for waking up mid-flight.”

 

B.A. winced as he looked up at the rear view mirror.

 

“Sorry I bit ya, Faceman.”

 

Face leaned forward between the seats, staring at his bandaged left hand.

 

“It's okay, Bosco. I'm up to date on my shots,” he said glancing out the window at a row of helicopters. “It's an odd feeling being back on base, isn't it? I mean, not having to look over our shoulders...it still doesn't seem real.”

 

They followed the Humvee into a hangar at the far end of the airfield. As both vehicles came to a stop, the large door rolled closed behind them.

 

The floor began to drop and they were slowly lowered beneath the surface.

 

Murdock pressed his face to the rear window of the van.

 

“Colonel, I ain't the only one seeing this, am I?”

 

“No, Murdock,” replied Hannibal. “It's happening.”

 

After they had reached the bottom, B.A. guided the van forward as they followed the Humvee into the hub of The Pit. Two small squads of recruits jogged by in formation while other personnel cruised past in small utility vehicles or golf carts. The Pit very much resembled an underground city with the hub ringed by several office buildings. There were also multiple parking structures housing Humvees, tanks, Strykers and other specialized vehicles.

 

“Here we go,” said Hannibal as they stopped before a building marked C _ompany Headquarters_.

 

General Hawk stood before the double doors with Duke at his side. Hannibal and his men emerged from the van.

 

“Gentlemen, welcome to The Pit,” called Hawk. “I'm afraid the introductory tour will have to wait...the A-Team has a mission.”

 

_ **To Be Continued...** _

 

 


End file.
